His New York
by privateradios
Summary: It's not the city that captivates him, it's her. SPOILERS FOR THE REST OF SEASON TWO.


**Title**: His New York

**Author**: Jen / privateradios / weisy

**Pairing**: Flack/Aiden

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

**Summary:** It's not the city that captivates him, it's her.

**Spoilers**: All up to season finale. (I highly suggest you do not read this unless you know all that's happening in the next two episodes)

**Rating**: FRT

**A/N:** Beta'd by the lovely twincy. ;D

The tears should be falling, but they aren't. He should be shaking with anger, unable to keep concentration, but he isn't. He should be yelling along with Danny, should be punching things, but he isn't.

Instead he's standing there, alone, in _their_ apartment as if it were any other night with Aiden, there in his clothes, smiling up at him, eyes bright with excitement.

That is, at least, how he imagines it to be, but when he threw open their apartment door that evening, she was nowhere to be found. At first he thought her death was fake, as if God were playing a cruel and malevolent trick on him, but when he watched the coffin filled with her bones lower into the ground the next day, he felt the familiar taste of bile rising in his throat before he leaned against Danny and threw up onto the fresh earth soil.

The funeral was long, because to the lab, Aiden was still a detective and deserved to have a funeral as one. There were the gun shots, there were the respected words, but the whole time that Flack stood with his former colleagues, he couldn't help but look at Lindsay and realize that Aiden would never come back.

Lindsay wasn't Aiden and never would be. But now that Lindsay seemed to have officially replaced Aiden at the labs, Flack found himself unable look at her the same way. Because now when his eyes found hers, they were filled with hatred and rage, something that so rarely ever surfaced in his eyes.

Flack also noticed a change in Danny's behavior – the simple flirting with Monroe is long gone and instead, an empty and hollow man stood in front of him. Along with Aiden's death, Danny's trademarked-grin had died with her, his shoulders slumped and his head hung low.

There are no more nights out at Sullivan's, now, no more friendly exchanges in the labs. Instead there is heavy silence, and lonely nights where Flack finds himself awakening to an empty bed where Aiden's body should lay.

And even though Flack doesn't admit it to anyone, he cries himself to sleep when reality had finally hit him that dreadful day.

Xxxx

The explosion is one week after Aiden's death, and Flack's life hangs by a thread, one that at any moment can twist and break, and even though he wants to live, he can't help but wish, in the back of his head, that he'll die, because at least he'd get another chance to see her face again.

But the doctors are skilled, and they know what they're doing as he falls under the spell of the drugs.

Days pass, and he finally wakes to the sight of Danny, Stella and Mac smiling down at him. His skin itches and burns, but at that moment, he's so happy to see their faces again that he laughs with them despite the amount of pressure on his lungs. Monroe is there, too, but he doesn't acknowledge her like he does with the others because he's not ready yet. Not until everything begins to fall in place again.

When it's finally time for Flack to return home, Danny gives him a ride, explaining all that has happened since Flack has been out of work, and Flack can't help but feel almost as if things are beginning to turn around as he and Danny begin their playful bantering. Danny talks about the Yankees while Flack chirps up about the Rangers, and before they're both able to make fun of each other's taste in sports, they arrive at Flack's apartment. Flack thanks his friend for the ride before stepping out of the vehicle.

His skin still burns, and he knows the scars may never leave his flesh again as he steps into his empty apartment, but he's alive and well, and as Danny reminded him many times in the car, he still has his friends.

He sets his bag down on the floor as he moves about, shivers running up and down his spine at the eerie silence. He's not used to it, doesn't think he ever will be, but he continues to walk until he's in the bedroom.

The day that Aiden slipped from the world had been the same day that Flack had rushed home, and feverishly begun cleaning his apartment. He never thought he would have been one to leave things the way they were when she'd been here, but he'd had this strange and crazy feeling inside of him that if he would hide all that belonged to her, then perhaps she would come back looking for it.

He sits on the bed now, feet touching the ground as he sighs, tears forming behind his eyes. He knows his parents left messages on his answering machine, but he's not in the mood to listen or even bother to call. He doesn't want to hear the words that leave his father's mouth, he doesn't want to hear the sympathy his mother has for him.

All Flack wants to do is sleep and wake up with her right beside him.

He looks down at the burned flesh on his hands, and in that sickening moment when the time has stopped, he sees Aiden in his burns, sees her face and her pain as the car burns her body alive. His eyes widen at the image, and even though he was never there, he can hear her high shrill of death and he yells, suddenly, collapsing onto the ground as he hugs his body close to him. His lids are closed but the tears escape the corners of his eyes as he begins to pray, something that he hasn't done in years.

He prays not to see her face, not to hear her scream, not to smell the pungent smell of death in his burned scars, as the world suddenly beings to spin.

'_Life isn't fair'_, he tells himself, rocking back and forth on the floor despite the pain he feels on his flesh. He doesn't understand why it was her life and not his, doesn't understand why he can't choose his fate and why God has turned his back to him, leaving him to pieces on the floor.

Memories begin to run through his mind faster than he can stop them, and his heart twists in pain again as he remembers everything, including the first time they met, five years ago.

_Right when her hand meets with his, he feels this strange unknown shiver run down his spine. She eyes the handshake, before looking up into his eyes and nodding. _

_"Aiden Burn." _

_He can't resist commenting at her name. "Aiden? Unusual name." _

_She laughs, and with her free hand she tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. _

_"Yeah, guess why I kinda like it." _

_His smile widens and slowly, his hand leaves hers. "Yeah, I like it too."_

Little had he known that in five years, her hand would be nothing more than burnt flesh.

The shadows of the past haunt him, and he curls up close to himself, waves of memories hitting him so hard that it's getting harder to breathe.

"_Should I be bothered that I enjoy wearin' your clothes more than mine?" She asks, standing in their kitchen in his shorts and dress shirt, a playful smile on her lips as she cocks her head to the side at him. "Because if ya don't mind, I'm gonna snag a few, okay?"_

_He laughs and wraps his arms around her slim waist, pulling her body close to his to take in her familiar smell of Brooklyn, destruction and wildflowers. She places a small kiss to the curve of his neck._

"_Aiden, you could be covered in dirt from head to toe and I'd still think you'd be the sexiest thing alive."_

_She chuckles and looks up at him curiously. "Even if I was covered in human waste, you'd still think I'm drop dead gorgeous?"_

_He makes a disgusted face and gets another laugh out of her as he shakes his head. "Okay, ya got me there."_

_She leans up to place a small kiss to his lower lip before resting her head on his shoulder, a content smile on her face. "Thanks, Don, thanks."_

He manages to get up from his curled position on the floor, to only run to the bathroom, falling to knees as he lifts the toilet seat before the familiar burning taste of bile leaves his mouth, his hand reaching up to flush the toilet. He closes his eyes and leans his head back, panting slightly, cold sweat lingering across his skin.

Before he can stop to even breathe, the last memory he shared with her hits him hard, sending his world off balance.

"_I was thinkin' that if ya want to, we can head over and try that new Chinese place that was put it down the street tomorrow," she says as she moves about in the kitchen, her long brown hair pulled back into a high ponytail. "That's if you'd rather eat here for our anniversary."_

"_Anniversary of one year of datin', Aid. It's tomorrow, and we don't have to decide where to go until tomorrow."_

_She looks over her shoulder at him, brow raised. "Really? Because last time I checked, we need reservations."_

_He pokes at his spaghetti before looking up at her, a playful smirk lingering on his lips. "Oh yeah. Or we can stay here, and then I can show ya a real treat in the bedroom. How about that?"_

_She laughs and gives him a small hit to the arm and he chuckles, poking at his spaghetti again. "I'll just make the reservations, okay?"_

He leans his head against the tile and remembers the phone call to the restaurant the next day; explaining about how they decided on another place when in reality, she had left to enter heaven's gates, but there was no way he would explain her death to a stranger, her absence in the world.

He crawls out of the bathroom and slowly climbs onto their bed – no, _his_ bed –resting his pounding head onto the pillow, his swollen eyes heavy with pain.

"_Night, baby,"_ he hears her whisper, and he smiles sadly, tears seeping out from closed eyes as he reaches over to the cold pillow and whispers back.

"Night, Aid."

Goodnight to his New York.

FIN.


End file.
